


Carmina Armōrum: the Seducer Aria

by inwardtransience



Series: Back Burner [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Harry Potter, F/F, Female Harry Potter, Original Character(s), Slytherin Harry Potter, White Magic, Worldbuilding, manipulative!Dumbledore, responsible!Sirius, semisane!Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 05:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10074710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inwardtransience/pseuds/inwardtransience
Summary: The tentative first chapter of a fic I may write eventually.





	

**Author's Note:**

> _Yeah, the chapter for TRW this week is going to be ridiculously late, writer's block kicking me in the face. I'm...maybe a fifth of the way through the chapter. It's bad._
> 
> _So, partially as apology, partially something I was going to do anyway, here's a thing! I tend to get distracted, it happens, and I'll write some shit in different fics, because my brain won't shut up. These three of them I've written far enough I have the first chapters (and sometimes more) completely done, in a way I don't think I'll be changing them too much if I ever do get to writing them. I've been doing really terrible keeping up with my own damn schedule, so here's a few other things to read in the meantime._
> 
> _I might be adding a couple more first chapters for other fics within the next few weeks — I have two more that are probably only a few hundred words away from finished._
> 
> _Okay, let's just go then._

He remembered it like it was yesterday. So he knew immediately what it meant when the feeling came.

It had been August fifth, last year. He'd finally gotten time off to come visit James and Lily, congratulate them on the birth of their daughter — James was a _father_! — check up on how they were handling their extended isolation. They hadn't been able to afford nearly what the occasion deserved. Voldemort was growing stronger every day, the Ministry weakening with each ounce of influence he gained, acquaintances and even friends dropping like flies. No one had had the emotional energy to be all that happy.

But it had been better than nothing.

At one point in the evening, Lily had taken him aside. For a terrible moment, he had thought something was wrong, he couldn't imagine what. But his heart practically stopped when she'd said, 'You'll be her noðaþir?'

For a few seconds, all he'd been able to summon were dazed blinks. Him? They were picking _him_? 'Me? Are you sure?'

'I am. It might not surprise you, but James isn't sure you're responsible enough.' She had been right — that hadn't surprised him a bit. 'But I think I can trust you, to do what's right. If anything happens to us, I know—'

The blade in his chest twisted again, wiping the memory away.

_If anything happens to us._

They'd done the proper magic right then and there. There was a bit of magic between parents and their child — that was common knowledge. And being someone's noðaþir was more than promising to be there should — should something happen. Shortly after the birth of a child, a simple little ritual was done, simple in process but hardly in effect. It was a ward, of a kind, inscribed into the souls of the participants. Should the parents die, the noðaþir and noðxam would know immediately, the magic bond between parent and child instantly transferred. A clever bit of magic their ancestors had devised, and very useful, he'd heard.

He wasn't sure how he felt about it now.

He'd known, right away, when the magic had hit, coming over him like the tripping of a ward. He'd known. How he'd known, he wasn't sure — there hadn't been anything specific about the feel of the magic he could think of that had told him explicitly what was going on. Hadn't felt that different from any other ward, really. But he'd known. He'd known. And he'd instantly apparated off to Godric's Hollow, despite the fact that he was currently on duty. He didn't care. He had to see. He had to convince himself he was mistaken. Part of him had been sure he'd get to the house and find nothing amiss. He'd almost been able to taste that awful mint tea James was always drinking on the air, hear his teasing chuckling. Part of him had been sure they were fine.

But the dread rising in him hadn't been convinced.

One look at the house was all it had taken. One look. And there was no longer any way to doubt the truth. With horrible, devastating certainty, he knew. One look was all it had taken.

They were dead. They were all dead.

How long had he been kneeling here? He wasn't sure. Minutes, at least. The familiar sight of the home — half of it smashed to pieces, blackened by a fire so short-lived it had vanished before he'd arrived — had torn him to shreds. In an instant, he couldn't breathe. A compression so powerful he was sure he would pass out, his ribs would crack, his heart would shred itself against the shards. They were dead. He couldn't breathe.

He didn't know how long he'd been kneeling here.

Suddenly, he realised he wasn't alone. He hadn't noticed the crack of apparition, but there was — well, it was _Snivellus_ , standing just a couple metres away. He was at an angle in front of him, facing the house, so he couldn't see his face. But he could see his hands. Shaking. Shaking so badly, Sirius was sure he wouldn't be able to handle a wand at all. With slow, trembling steps, the Marked Death Eater did what Sirius couldn't bring himself to do. He walked into the house.

Part of him really hated a Death Eater going into that house. But the rest of him, most of him, couldn't breathe, hurt too much to care.

He watched, umoving, as Snape drifted through the door, disappearing from view. He reappeared seconds later, the demolished state of the walls on that end of the house not doing much to hide what was inside. Sirius could identify the exact moment Snape saw...saw... Well, saw what he'd been dreading to see. It was obvious. In a second, the young man's unpleasant, scowling face shifted from terrified dread to horrified certainty. His breath caught so hard Sirius could hear it from here, and he fell to his knees, ash splashing up as high as his shoulders. He didn't cry, not exactly — Sirius honestly wasn't sure if Snape was capable of it — but his wailing gasps, growing higher and higher and faster and faster, were almost worse.

It hurt to watch, somehow more than Sirius already hurt. But he couldn't look away. He didn't feel sorry for Snape, not exactly. He didn't think he'd ever be able to feel sorry for the evil little git. But he understood. It wasn't only the grief that had anchored Sirius here, stripped away all his breath. It wasn't only that. It was the terrible, crippling, shattering _guilt_. He should have been here. He should have been here. When they'd been arranging the Fidēlius in the first place, Sirius had been told everything — how it had been Snape, of all people, who had heard the prophecy, brought it to Voldemort, only to betray his master the second he learned who Voldemort planned to target. Sirius should have been here, yes, but he wouldn't have _had_ to have been here if not for Snape. If anything, Snape probably felt more guilty than he did.

In that moment, perhaps for the first time in his entire life, if only a little bit, Sirius Black understood Severus Snape.

Sirius was still sitting, his thoughts weak and clumsy in his head, when Snape pulled out his wand. As he watched, Snape turned his wand around in his hand, brought the tip against his chest, still heaving and shuddering. For just a second, shock pierced the haze of agony hanging over him. Snape was going to kill himself. Right in front of him, over Lily's — over Lily. For just a second, Sirius wondered if he should stop him.

No. No, let him do it. In that moment, he understood Severus Snape. And if death was what he wanted, let him have it.

Honestly, Sirius wasn't sure he'd be very far behind him. What did he have anymore? His family, with the somewhat ambivalent exception of Andi, had shunned him long ago. Peter would have to be dealt with. Oh, would he have to be _dealt with_. Remus, well, he'd never been as close to Remus as James was, to be honest. He'd always been too much of a goody-goody, too much of a bookworm. He was a perfectly fine sort of man, sure, but he'd always just made Sirius feel vaguely guilty just by existing. But without _James_. Without James and Lily and baby Hazel... Well, who did he have left?

No, he didn't think he'd be very far behind him at all.

He had something that had to be _dealt with_ , at the very least. But after that? Well...

'Black.'

He started out of his thoughts, stared up at Snape. While it had hardly been recognisable as his voice — or even as a human voice, for that matter, far too thick and broken — he somehow knew it'd been him. His wand had fallen a few inches from his chest, his face turned toward a corner of the room Sirius couldn't see from here. He looked... Well, Sirius wasn't sure how he looked. 'What?' His voice didn't sound any better than Snape's.

'Get in here.'

'I don't...' That was as much as he could get out. His throat completely failed him. Besides, he wasn't sure what he'd meant to say.

'Hazel is alive.'

Sirius blinked.

And he blinked again.

For long seconds, kneeling there, that was all he could do. Blink like an idiot.

_Hazel is_ —

No, that...that didn't make any sense. Snape must be mistaken somehow. There was no way an infant could survive...whatever had happened here. Voldemort had come here with the express purpose of killing her, for one thing. While Voldemort would have _liked_ to be rid of James and Lily, surely, they'd just been collateral in this particular case. Even ignoring that, _look at the house!_ There was no way, _no way_ Hazel survived.

Just no way.

But...

But if she _had_...

Sirius forced himself to his feet. His knees ached in protest, sore from having been forced into one position so long against the cold, hard ground, but he ignored it. His chest still hurt more anyway. With steps just as uneven and unsteady as Snape's had been, he started toward the door.

'No.' He glanced over at Snape. He wasn't looking at Sirius, still staring into the corner. 'Don't go through the door.'

'Why not?'

'Come through the wall, here,' he said, pointing at one of the larger gaps in the wall, lowest to the ground.

For a long moment, he stood in place, too confused to really do anything else. Why was Snape telling him to come through the wall? What was there elsewhere in the house that—

_James_.

Snape was telling him to come through the wall so he wouldn't see—

Why would Snape do that? What did he care? Snape _hated_ James, he _hated_ Sirius. What difference did it make to him?

And then Sirius had a thought. Snape didn't _need_ to care, necessarily. He didn't _need_ to feel sorry for him. Just as Sirius didn't for him. He thought he knew exactly what was going on in Snape's head. It'd been in his own just a minute ago.

Maybe, in that moment, for the first time in his entire life, if only a little bit, Severus Snape understood Sirius Black.

When he climbed through the gap in the wall, he spotted Lily with a glance. Sick weakness overcame him in an instant, and he turned away, grabbing at the remnants of the wall, expelling what little he'd eaten for dinner back out the fissure he'd just entered. The taste of bile in his mouth, the feel of it forced up his nose, only made him feel worse, his knees shaking so hard he was sure he'd collapse without the doubtful support of the house. She was— She was—

_That_ was hardly recognisable as Lily Potter.

He wasn't even sure how he'd known, honestly. She... So burned up and broken the — the remains hardly seemed completely _human_ anymore. He wasn't sure how he'd known it was her. But he had. That jumble of charred flesh broken by visible bone was all that was left of her.

It seemed _wrong_ , inappropriate in a way that he couldn't really put words to. This was _Lily_. Eternally smiling, kind almost to a fault. That she'd put up with Snape so long was certainly evidence of that. A woman of such beauty and intellect and fire she was frankly a bit intimidating. A witch of such awe-inspiring power and grace she was, if he were to be completely honest with himself, just a little bit frightening. And that was all that was left of her.

It just seemed _wrong_.

In time, he gathered enough control of himself. He was very careful not to look at Lily again, but he did manage to turn back around. But his eyes were drawn by something else. There was another body here — at least, what was left of one. There was something a bit...odd about it. Its robes were charred in a couple places, but overall mostly intact. But what Sirius could see of flesh, on hands and face, just looked...not quite right. It looked like it had melted, twisting and bubbling, made into a malformed, disgusting mockery of the human form.

It took him another couple seconds to guess what that must be.

'Is...' He cleared his throat, forcing in a breath. 'Is that him?'

Snape's eyes flicked toward the corpse, mangled by some unguessable magics, but only for a second. 'Yes. He's gone.'

He's—

Sirius couldn't process that right now. He just couldn't. There was far too much going on. He only had room in his head for so many things. He couldn't add the downfall of Voldemort on top of James and Lily being gone, on top of Hazel—

Right. He turned toward the corner Snape was still staring at. Among the ashen wood, he thought he saw a few narrow poles that might have once been Hazel's cot — James had mentioned at one point she spent the night with them, so he assumed that was only for naps during the day. Sitting there, the bright colours a stark contrast against the fire-blackened surroundings, was a bundle of very familiar blankets. He sunk to his knees a couple steps away, brushed aside some of the debris, and—

Snape was right. Lying there, deep in a sleep so even he assumed it had to be magic, was fifteen-month-old Hazel Potter. Very much alive.

If he'd been in a more clear state of mind, he'd be full of questions. How had she survived? What had happened to Voldemort? How had she passed such obviously violent destruction without suffering the slightest bit of injury? But at the moment, he didn't have any room for those thoughts. At the moment, there was only one thing he could do.

He cried.

* * *

It had felt quite like tearing out what little remained of his heart by hand. But he'd done it.

Hagrid had come, saying something about being sent by Albus, something about taking Hazel somewhere. To Lily's sister's. There was something about that that had bothered him, something half-remembered, but he hadn't had the presence of mind to investigate it. He couldn't take her where he was going. She'd be safe, wherever Albus was putting her. Safe for now. It had hurt, handing the tiny girl over to the gargantuan man, it had hurt so much it'd made him dizzy.

But he'd done it.

Now he was standing, alone with Snape, staring out at what remained of the house. They wouldn't be alone for much longer, he knew. People would come soon. To investigate. To clean the place up — the Fidēlius was still holding, but even he could feel it gradually fraying, and this wasn't something they wanted muggles stumbling in on. They hadn't a lot of time.

But neither of them could move.

Finally, after he knew not how long, empty voice turned uncharacteristically harsh and hoarse, Snape said, 'You didn't keep her.'

His tone was flat, empty, without the accusation he would have expected from anyone else. Good — he probably would have drawn his wand if he'd heard it from _Snape_ of all people. 'No. I have something I need to do. If I come back...'

He _did_ plan to come back. Peter wasn't exactly the greatest of duellists. It would hardly take a second.

But sometimes. Sometimes things went wrong.

'Pettigrew.'

That time, Snape's voice wasn't empty. Sirius heard the hatred on his voice, one that so closely matched the fury dancing in his blood. He didn't think he'd be able to speak, so he just nodded.

'When you find him. Don't make it quick. Make it _hurt_.'

Sirius turned toward Snape to find him already staring at him. Face paler than he'd ever seen it, eyes dark and quivering with impotent agony and righteous loathing. So very like his own.

In that moment, for the first time in their lives, Sirius Black and Severus Snape understood each other perfectly.

Before Sirius could say anything — not that he knew what words exactly were poised on his lips — their moment of blood-thirsty camaraderie was interrupted by two cracks piercing the air, one shortly after the other. The second was Snape vanishing, apparating off who-knows-where. The first was—

Sirius was hit in the side with a sudden jolt of hard, unyielding pressure, hard enough to take him off his feet. Just as he hit the ground, tumbling against the grass, he felt a wrenching in his wrist, his wand skittering away — he recognised it immediately as a disarming charm. The instant he came to a halt, he was hit again. A lesser force this time, only enough to flip him to his back. Another spell immediately on its heels held him fast against the ground — not forceful enough to hurt, but he doubted he'd be able to lift a finger.

As he lay there, breathless with surprise, a figure obscured a portion of the starry sky above him. A figure holding a wand, restraining so much magic on the edge of release a halo of flickering golden light surrounded the entire length. Even in that inconsistent light, Sirius knew who it was after only a second of looking at her. It was Alice. Cheeks wet with tears, wand hand quivering with rage.

Sirius suddenly remembered Lily wasn't the only witch his age who scared him a bit.

' _You_.' Alice's voice was harsh, thick and low with anger, anger that seemed to make the very air around him shiver. It was _possible_ that wasn't his imagination, but he didn't really want to think about that too hard. 'There are _no words_ for how _disgusted_ I am with you right now.'

For one, blissful second, Sirius had no idea what she was talking about. But then, horror washed over him as realisation hit. They'd switched, made Peter fidēlior instead of him, they'd done it in secret — _no one else knew!_ 'I didn't do it,' he said in a gasp, Alice's magic holding him steadily enough in place he could hardly talk above a whisper. 'They switched, it was—' He winced, a sudden tightening from the spell cutting him off.

'I know it was Pettigrew, that's not what I'm talking about! _Hazel_ , you idiot! You gave her up!'

'She'll be fine wherever—'

Her voice was more of a scream than anything, high and loud enough to hurt his ears. 'Albus is sending her to Lily's bitter, magic-hating wretch of a sister! You have _no idea_ what'll happen to her there!'

The memories came back to him, in dribs and drabs, slowed and distorted by the haze still sitting over his thoughts. He remembered Lily deflecting questions about her family again and again, the rare admission that she didn't really get along with them so well, an indistinct impression of a noisy argument on the train platform just before third year. How had he forgotten about that? Maybe, he guessed, because he didn't really know all that much. How did Alice know enough to be so—

Oh. He'd almost forgotten. He wasn't the only person who'd lost someone tonight. Just as he and James were brothers in all but birth, Lily and Alice were practically sisters.

'I...' He swallowed, and tried to shake his head, but couldn't move more than an inch, held still by constricting magic. 'I didn't think.'

'No. You didn't.'

'But...but Peter—'

' _You stupid son of a bitch_ ,' Alice snarled, her voice suddenly at a scream again, ' _let the D.L.E. take care of it!_ Do you really think you're better than _two dozen Aurors_?'

'I should at least help! I might be able to—'

'You're the most use right now taking care of—' Alice froze, a peculiar look of confusion crossing her face. For a moment, she didn't move, didn't speak, just stared into the distance. Then the confusion wiped away, replaced with the sort of cool, dangerously dispassionate look Sirius was by now accustomed to among the DLE. She lifted her wand, the weight holding him down immediately vanishing. 'On second thought, you're the most use to me right now. Give me a hand with this and I'll forgive you. Assuming you go get Hazel after, of course. Alert the Order.'

As Sirius dragged himself again back up to his feet, he saw Alice pull a mirror out of her cloak. She must have been on duty somewhere too, he realised — she was in Auror reds and blacks. He could tell at a glance that mirror wasn't like the one he and James had gotten into so much trouble with, layered with much more complex charms than school-age Remus had been able to come up with. He had already recovered his wand, preparing to invoke his _patrōnus_ , when he suddenly noticed he was missing information. 'Erm, what am I alerting them about?'

'Four Marked Death Eaters just crossed the wardline at my home.'

'I don't—'

'Frank and Neville are there.'

Oh. Well. That wasn't good. Should definitely alert the Order — Alice was probably recruiting help from the Aurors too, with that mirror. Okay, then. He lifted his wand, started the familiar movements, his entire being filling with the memory of, shortly after his mother had disowned him, James telling him he could come live with him, he'd convince his—

He froze, halfway through the spell, when his chest tightened in sudden agony, the horror still standing mostly undisturbed just metres away intruding on the happiest moment of his life. Not that one, then. Okay. His first year in Hogwarts, when he and— No, not that. A few years ago, when he'd gone to the World Cup with— No. When he'd been asked to be best— _No_. That day at the lake, when he and— _No_. That time they'd all gone to a forest in the middle of nowhere on a full— _No, no,_ _ **no**_ _!_

Did he have _any_ happy memories that didn't involve James?

Alice, in a break in her conversation to the mirror, said just three words: 'Hazel is alive.'

Yes. Yes, that would be good enough. It wasn't exactly a happy thought — bittersweet at best — but it was something. It was _enough_. The _patrōnus_ came slower, more hesitantly than it ever had in years, seemingly demanding more energy of him to deign to appear, the silvery lupine dog looking weaker than he was used to, oddly wispy. But it would do. He gave the warning to his little messenger, and it shot into the sky in a burst of light, splitting into a dozen filaments that all vanished in a wink. And it was done.

But apparently not completely done. Before he could move, vise-like fingers grabbed at his wrist, and Godric's Hollow vanished, replaced with the constricting darkness of apparation.

They reappeared somewhere he instantly recognised — just outside of the Longbottoms' house on the edge of a forest he wasn't sure exactly where. They were some metres away, but he could see even from here that the front door was hanging open. 'Woah,' he said, grabbing Alice's sleeve before she could start toward the house. 'Shouldn't we wait for the others?'

She turned, glaring up at him. 'If you think I'm waiting who knows how long with my son in there, you're _insane_. They'll catch up.' Without another word, she spun on her heel and started creeping, almost completely silently, up toward the house. With a long, steadying breath, he tried to force out the haze, force himself to focus on what he was doing, right here, right now. To forget about James, about Lily, about Hazel, if only for these couple minutes. To do what he had to do.

And he started after her, approaching the little cottage with gentle, quiet steps. He was louder than Alice, but she was an _Auror_ , so he was pretty sure that was expected. After a few seconds, they were nearing the door, close enough he could see the lock had been blasted apart, close enough to hear talking, a familiar high cackling that twisted his stomach. Not her. Please, please, _please_ , don't let it be _her_...

Then the night was pierced with screams of agony, so loud and high it was hard to imagine they could have come from a human throat. But somehow he knew — that was Frank. They were using the _cruciātus_ on Frank.

All thoughts of stealth, of strategy, vanished in an instant, Alice rushed through the door, directly toward her husband's voice, Sirius quick on her heels. They stopped in their living room, Sirius knew, but he wasn't really paying attention to that too much. He was more focused on Frank — still alive — twitching on the floor under Bella, the three wands not on Frank pointed directly toward him and Alice, the faces behind them. He'd guessed right, the Lestranges were here, all three of them. The sight of his cousin's face, twisted with manic glee, just made him feel sick again. And the fourth was — _Barty_? Barty Crouch? The Director's son?

Huh.

A giggle under her words, Bella said, 'Looks like we have two more volunteers, boys. Maybe you can tell us what we want to know, and no one will have to die.' Her wand tracked up toward them as she spoke, with the sort of smooth grace that had always seemed to come natural to her. And she smirked.

Sirius, in the back of his own head, couldn't help being a little darkly amused. Was that supposed to be intimidating? On a normal day, his mad, sadistic cousin just struck him as deeply disturbing. But the scene he'd left just moments ago was so much worse he hardly even noticed. It almost like Bella didn't realise this was a very, _very_ bad day to fuck with him. Alice didn't seem any more affected than he did. Her voice somehow smooth and level, she said, 'I suppose that depends on what you want to know.'

Bella's pale face shifted, morphing into a...bright, cheerful grin. It was weird, to say the least. 'I knew you could be reasonable. You've always struck me as a reasonable sort, Alice.' Alice flinched, just barely noticeably. 'So, tell me. What happened? Where is he?'

It took a second for Sirius to make sense of that. These four were torturing Frank in an attempt...to find Voldemort? What? How did that make any sense?

Maybe expecting them to make sense was asking for too much. It did seem like Bella was in charge, after all.

'He's dead,' Alice said before Sirius could even think of how to respond. 'What's left of him is still at the Potters' house. Go see for yourself.'

The grin vanished, replaced by a contorted mess of rage and hatred, her wand hand quivering in anticipation of bloodshed. But before she could do anything, before anyone could move, a choked voice came from the floor. ' _Dēprimātur_.' With startling suddenness, Barty Crouch was forced downward, connecting with the wood floor so solidly the sharp sound of cracking bones filled the air.

_Frank_? They'd left Frank his _wand_? Just how stupid could they get?

But he had no time to think about that. Bella's wand was turning to Frank, and by the snarling rictus that had replaced her features, Sirius knew what she was about to do. He knew that Bella could cast the dreaded killing curse quite easily — he'd seen her do it. She could do it so quickly, he wouldn't have time for an incantation either. He skipped the words, he skipped even wand motions themselves. He focused as powerfully as he could, bringing to mind the exact spell he wanted — an _expulset_ , tearing and shattering from within, an explosion of energy and violence — and forced reality to match his desire with every bit of will he could summon, everything he had. The spell left him with such fury he was left with his blood turned hot, his knees weak, tingles working across his wand arm and within his skull.

His aim had been perfect. A fissure spread across Bella from hip to shoulder, rending her in two, turning the air to a rain of blood. The expanding pressure of the curse forced over objects all over the room, filling the air with the dancing sound of glass shattering again and again, both of the Lestrange brothers knocked bodily into the air — Alice hit one with a curse as he fell, carving a deep gouge in his chest Sirius knew was fatal.

But he'd been too slow. Even as the last Lestrange rose again to his feet, followed soon by a staggering Barty, the little living room quickly consumed with the sound and fury of their battle, Sirius was partially distracted from the now-familiar mindless rhythm of a duel, seeing again and again and again in his mind's eye the flash of green light that had taken Frank Longbottom from this world.

The fight only continued for maybe thirty seconds, until, right about the time Alice landed Barty with a curse that shredded his leg into messy, gooey pulp, the room was in an instant filled with the red light of stunners, arcing directly at Lestrange where he stood barely withstanding the deluge of curses from Sirius, Barty where he hunched screaming.

And it was over.

The fight was over, but what came next would join the house he'd just left in his nightmares for years to come. What he had made of his cousin Bella, in multiple pieces on the floor, half the room wet with her blood. The pitying looks everyone gave him, on this the night he would later come to acknowledge as that of James's death. The sound of little Neville crying from a room over, too young to know just what all this noise had been, too young to know he'd be perfectly justified in crying right now no matter his age. The horror on the faces of the Aurors and the Order when they learned first that Barty Junior was a Death Eater, and second that Frank had been killed. Because everyone had loved Frank, the young scion of House Longbottom, eminently humble and constantly joking and inherently gentle. _Everyone_.

The look on Alice's face as she stood over her husband's body. Flat, empty, her eyes steady and soulless.

There was only so much a person could take, he understood that now, with a visceral sense of truth it hurt. He thought he'd understood that when he'd nearly watched Snape kill himself. But he knew, he knew, looking at Alice in that moment, that though she would survive this day, she would be forever broken.

He didn't think he was much better off.

But he needed to go. He needed to leave right now, he needed to go find Hazel.

Because there was only so much a person could take.

He didn't think he could live with himself if he left her.

* * *

Finally, Sirius found himself on Privet Drive. It'd taken some time to find the address where he knew Hazel would be sent, pawing through muggle directories, but he'd finally done it. There was something peculiar about this street, though. He'd been on muggle streets before, and he knew at this time of night that they should be lit up with lampposts, the black of night at least partially held back. But it was so dark, darker than it should be. It didn't seem right, it wasn't what he'd expected.

Then he noticed a tall man at the opposite corner of the street, buried in a purple cloak and silvery hair, a little device held up in his hand. Staring in a combination of surprise and curiosity at Sirius. That could only be one person.

Sirius completely ignored him. He strode down the pavement, watching the houses flick by, his pace quick, feet striking the ground with each step hard enough it almost hurt. Soon he came upon Number Four, and couldn't help but grimace with sudden rage. Albus had left Hazel _on the front step?_ In the middle of a November night? _What was **wrong** with him?_

He'd hardly crossed half the garden when he felt Albus spring just behind him and to his side. 'Sirius—'

He jerked away before Albus could lay a hand on his shoulder, as he'd probably been intending, spun around to face the much older man. _'No_. Whatever it is you have to say, I don't care. I'm taking my noðēx and I'm leaving.'

Albus spoke in his low, smooth, compassionate voice, the voice that made him sound as though he understood, he empathised, he knew. But if Albus thought Sirius was going to leave Hazel here after everything that had happened over the last thirty hours — at least now that Alice had properly slapped some sense into him — he didn't understand at all. He was fucking mental. 'This is what is best for everyone. Things are more complicated than you believe.'

'They always are, aren't they?'

For a second, Albus just stared at him, uncertain. 'I'm afraid I can't let you take her, Sirius. Lily laid complex and powerful wards of protection on Hazel, wards that will only endure with the presence of a close blood relative, wards Hazel will need when Voldemort returns.'

Feeling his own face twist into a glare, he said, 'I'm sorry, did I hear you say _let_? I am Hazel's legal guardian, Albus, in case you've forgotten. It is not your place to stop me.'

'I'd hoped we could—'

'And you'd have to stop me.' Slowly, he pulled out his wand, carefully pointing it toward the ground — he didn't exactly _want_ to fight Albus if he could help it, so there was no reason to be _too_ threatening. Albus looked down at his wand, his head tilted ever so slightly, a look on his face Sirius couldn't quite read. 'I've failed her too much already. Failed her once, not being there for James and Lily. Failed her twice, when I let Hagrid take her. I'm not doing it again.' He had to stop, then. His wand hand was shaking, badly enough he probably wouldn't be able to cast a thing, his throat so tight with shame and fury and grief he couldn't speak. He took a few seconds, working the muscles in his neck, trying to force it all down somewhere it could hide for a few minutes. 'I couldn't live with myself, Albus, you have to see that. I couldn't.'

For a long moment, Albus said nothing, eyes flicking between his wand and his face. Finally, 'And if I decided to press the issue?'

'Then you'll have to kill me.' Something crossed Albus's face, only for a second — Sirius wasn't exactly sure what, and he didn't really care. 'Because if you do anything less, I _will_ be making a legal challenge for her. A very public custody battle, over the daughter of James and Lily Potter — the Girl-Who-Lived, they're calling her! — can't possibly be a fight you want.'

He'd noticed before that it was, despite what most people believed, not at all impossible to change Albus Dumbledore's mind. It was really quite simple — for him to abandon a course of action, he only had to be threatened with a response that would generate greater damage than his intentions would benefits. This was an observation Sirius had never had occasion to make use of himself, but now he was glad he'd put it together. As long as Sirius was around, and capable of at least adequately performing as her guardian, Albus had no legal means to keep Hazel away from him. And Sirius was perfectly willing to follow through on his threat of legal action if he had to. Imagine that — the last heir of a Noble House, daughter of two widely-known war heroes, herself the vanquisher of the most feared Dark Lord in living memory by means as-yet unexplained, forced into the hands of muggles by the High Enchanter himself over the objection of her rightful noðaþir. Just imagine what the _Prophet_ would do with that. No, that was definitely not something Albus wanted to deal with.

Actually, just killing Sirius would get Albus what he wanted with little fuss — assuming Alice didn't make trouble for him later — but he was kind of hoping Albus still wasn't quite that ruthless.

Something of a rueful smile on his ancient face, Albus said, 'No, I suppose we can't have that. This is a risk you are taking, but...' He paused, frowning ever so slightly. Not directly at Sirius, but slightly to the side, toward the ground, as though examining something only he could see. '...with proper caution, I think, all reasonable consequences could be managed. Your flat would not be safe enough, of course.'

'I know. Augusta invited me to stay at Longbottom Manor until I can make arrangements. Alice is going to help me with that when we're—' He hesitated, not at all sure how to say what he was thinking. While putting together how to find Hazel in the first place, they'd tried coming up with what Sirius should do about his living situation, but neither of them had been able to think of anything. They'd both been having too many issues with concentration, thinking clearly. The last thirty hours or so had been very, _very_ long. Honestly, he'd been a little impressed Alice was even still capable of holding a conversation. '—up to it.'

'I wish you the best of luck, then.'

Sirius didn't bother responding, just turned away. That'd obviously been the end of the conversation, and he had nothing more to offer. In a moment he was kneeling before the steps, gently lifting Hazel from the concrete. He noticed the layered texture of charms over her immediately, most of which he thought he recognised — a charm to keep her warm, a charm to keep her asleep, a charm to ward off any passing animals or people from noticing her. He awkwardly shifted Hazel over to one arm, picking up a letter that had fallen out of the mass of blankets, and noticed another charm on the step, he thought probably a cushioning charm of some sort.

Okay, so maybe Albus wasn't _completely_ crazy. He still thought it was a stupid thing to do, but he grudgingly admitted all that was better than nothing.

Lily had told him, 'But I think I can trust you, to do what's right.' It had been _Lily_ who had asked him to be noðaþir — even if he'd expected them to pick him, which he hadn't, he'd have thought James would do the asking. Into his stunned silence, she'd said, 'If anything happens to us, I know you'll do absolutely everything you can to look out for her.

'Sometimes, Sirius, you're a complete idiot. You act without thinking, you ignore important details, you forget your priorities in the heat of the moment. And, to be honest, there are times you annoy me so much I can't stand to be in the same room with you.' Here, a warm sort of smile had spread on her face, a knowing look in her eyes. 'But I know, for the people you care about, that stupidity works for you. You forget everything else, and do whatever it takes, no matter how dangerous, no matter how short-sighted, to protect the people you love. It's the one admirable thing you took with you from your family.

'So, if you were in our position, wouldn't you pick you?'

No. No, he wasn't sure he would. Especially after what he'd almost done last night. If Alice hadn't hexed the stupid out of him, he honestly wasn't sure what would have happened. There were too many horrid possibilities down the line he just couldn't know.

But standing there in the night, James's daughter tight in his arms, he vowed to himself he would never make such a fucking idiotic mistake again. He was such a mess, he'd been even before last night, he knew that. But he'd do whatever he could to do better. No more drinking for one — he'd have to put a stop to that. His days as a philanderer were probably over. Not that he was sure he'd even be able to get himself in the proper mood for a while anyway. That stupidity Lily had talked about — he thought it could be better termed _rage_ , but that was neither here nor there — was a more difficult problem to fix, but he'd work on it. He didn't know how, but he'd do whatever it took. He'd do whatever it took to justify the trust James and Lily had shown him, to deserve the responsibility they'd given him.

He'd do whatever it took.

Exhausted in body and spirit almost beyond all human endurance, standing steady by unshakeable will alone, Sirius Black carried the Girl-Who-Lived away into the night.

* * *

Sirius hit the button to end the phone call, then hung the muggle contraption from its place on the wall. He still felt a bit odd using such things — Alice had felt it necessary to remind him more than once to use a normal speaking volume — but he had to admit there was something blissfully convenient about it. Especially since he'd discovered the miracle that was delivery food. He'd managed to wrangle a list of delivery places that serviced this building, and had already made it through half of them. Some were better than others, but there was just something about the whole process that he loved — it was almost better than having a house elf.

Well, okay, not even close. The flat he'd moved into with Hazel — what, two weeks ago now? — was something of a disaster area.

The place itself wasn't so bad, a bright, open thing one of Alice's friends had found, several storeys above the ground deep in muggle London. He knew it wasn't at all a cheap place by muggle standards — he didn't know much of such things, but the wideness of the rooms, the highness of the ceilings, the shininess of the foreign appliances gave him that idea. But even this was actually _cheaper_ than where he'd been living before, since he'd been living hardly a block off Diagon Alley, and the property values around there were always astronomically high.

This was a muggle building, but he and Hazel weren't the only magicals here — the flat just across the hall from theirs was now host to a rotation of trusted Aurors and Hit Wizards and Witches he and Alice had personally asked to keep an eye on the place. Most of them were older, or without families of their own, so they could afford to spend their off hours giving him a little peace of mind. Albus himself had dropped in to put up a thorough suite of wards on both flats. Amelia had come by an hour later to give the wards a surreptitious scan, even crippling one — she'd told Sirius it would have given Albus the name of every single person who crossed the wardline, as well as the name of everyone currently within their bounds, and he was a little surprised to find himself grateful she'd neutralised it. It probably wouldn't be long until Albus found it was gone, but he hoped the old man would get the message. Any post being sent to either of the two of them was also being redirected across the hall, which he was even more grateful for — they'd already detected a fair number of curses, and he really just didn't want to deal with that.

And apparently he wasn't any more prepared to deal with cleaning up after Hazel, either.

Since the damage had been limited to one section of the house, a good proportion of Hazel's things had survived. Apparently, when Voldemort... The _event_ had happened in the nursery — which Sirius remembered being on the _second_ floor, so that they'd found Hazel unharmed at ground level was even more unlikely — so anything that had been there was gone. Much of her clothing and some of her toys and such, though, hadn't been touched. Alastor, in one of his rare thoughtful moods, had cleaned the place out of everything useable for him. Everything belonging to James and Lily had been packed away somewhere, should the time come he or Alice or Remus would want to go through it. He hadn't even asked where — he'd ask when he was ready.

He'd ended up filling the place with more than just that. Somewhat to his surprise — though he really should have expected it — the flat across the hall had been flooded with gifts from well-wishers. Toys for Hazel, mostly, but sometimes something for him, since it was common knowledge he'd taken custody of her, and the occasional package of homemade food or sweets. Even the rare bit of gold. All of it carefully scanned for curses before Sirius even looked through it, of course, what he didn't pick as useful packed up to be donated. Anything edible they just threw away without checking — it was frighteningly possible someone could have slipped in a potion or toxin even the best examinations couldn't detect.

So the mess the flat was in was completely understandable. Lily had said at one point that Hazel left a room looking like a cyclone had gone through it, and Sirius had to admit the comparison wasn't terrible. Toys were strewn everywhere, books pulled off shelves to be left lying open in the middle of the room — he'd intentionally arranged it so the less valuable volumes were near the bottom exactly because he'd expected her to do that. He could still tell what colour the carpet was, though it was a near thing. The mess was especially impressive considering Hazel couldn't even walk yet, not really. She could totter around a little bit, sure, but not much more than that. And she was only sixteen months old — Sirius couldn't imagine what he'd be dealing with when she was three or four.

Of course, she'd found a way to get around much faster than her unsteady legs could carry her, and just about give him a heart attack at the same time. The worst part was it was his _own damn fault_. He'd _bought_ her that toy broomstick, after all. He hadn't thought she'd actually be able to use it yet — she'd only been a year old at the time! He'd only gotten it in the first place to give James and Lily a hard time, maybe a headache or two. That was an uncle's sacred duty, after all. From what they'd told him only a few days later, Hazel had figured out how to use that little thing _before she'd taken her first step_. Kid was crazy. Several times a day, he'd find himself sitting helplessly, Hazel whizzing around the room like a maniac, her high giggling bouncing off the walls. Until she inevitably bumped into something, sent tumbling into the air, caught in an instant by the emergency enchantments built into the thing, set safely on the floor before he could even draw his wand. Still giggling away, every time.

Yeah, that had backfired. That broomstick was certainly giving _someone_ a headache. He'd destroy the cursed thing with glee if Hazel didn't love it so much.

He blinked himself back to the present moment. He'd drifted off for a little there, probably only a few seconds. Getting better at not doing that so much, but it was a slow process, one of many things he was working on. The call with the delivery place had gotten a bit rushed at the end — Hazel had started tugging at his trousers a minute ago, and while she was usually pretty good about waiting for him to finish whatever he was doing, _usually_ wasn't _always_. He looked down to her.

He was getting better at this, too. Looking at her used to feel like a knife in the chest, but by now it was hardly more than just a little increased tightness. He couldn't really help it. It was impossible at this age to tell what her face would turn out like, but her hair, the peculiarly thin hair of a young child, had enough red in it he was pretty sure from where she'd inherited that, her eyes so heartbreakingly familiar. The angry cut on her forehead, gradually fading, wasn't nearly enough to distract him.

In quiet moments, he found himself feeling relieved she looked as she did. He'd been much closer to James, after all — if she'd taken after her father he didn't know how he'd have managed.

Dropping down to his knees before her, he said, 'What's wrong, kit?' He couldn't put to words exactly how he knew something was wrong. It wasn't in her face, exactly — her facial expressions weren't varied enough yet to really pick up much, and the faces of children this young are too pudgy and indistinct anyway. Maybe it was magic, he honestly didn't know.

And, no, he didn't know why he called her _kit_ either. He always had. It was just a thing he did.

Hazel said a single word in that thin, nasally toddler voice of hers, with that sense of demand he'd noticed she'd developed at some point, 'Mama.'

Okay. Ow.

It had been hard, the first two weeks or so. He hadn't had any idea how to go about explaining to a one-year-old child that her parents were dead, that they weren't coming back — especially since he still didn't like thinking about that himself. There had been a lot of crying, and a number of tantrums, complete with bursts of accidental magic. She'd actually hurt him a couple times, but never so badly he couldn't just fix it with a single quick healing charm. But slowly, gradually, those episodes had grown shorter and shorter, less and less frequent. She still had nightmares — were children this young even _supposed_ to have nightmares? — but even those were getting better. Sirius knew that, before long, Hazel would simply forget about her parents entirely. Children her age didn't have all that great of long term memories, after all.

He really wasn't sure how to feel about that. It would make it easier for her, he guessed, but it still struck him as deeply depressing.

'I'm sorry, kit,' he said, trying to make his voice as soft and gentle as he possibly could. 'But Mama's not coming. She's not coming back.'

Hazel gave him a long look, steady green eyes just staring at him. He got the very strange impression she didn't believe him. Then she said another word, just a single word again — the sounds themselves were complete gibberish, but by now he'd long ago figured out she was trying to say _apple sauce_.

And there went that mood whiplash again. He was never going to get used to how she kept doing that. Plastering a fake smile on his face, he said, 'Sure, kit, no problem.' A kiss to the top of her head, and he was gone, heading straight for the kitchen — which still felt like something out of a foreign country to him.

He could only have been gone, what, thirty seconds? maybe a little longer? But by the time he got back to the sitting room, it was to find Hazel already on her little broomstick, zooming around the room again like a lunatic. He really, _really_ shouldn't have been surprised.

This smile, at least, wasn't fake at all.

* * *

The phone against his ear, he stared at the carpet under his feet, a severe frown on his face. The Auror on the other end of the line, sitting in the flat just at the other side of the hall, waiting silently, no doubt feeling just as annoyed as he.

Albus Dumbledore was here, demanding to see him. And Sirius really didn't want to.

At the time of the attack, he'd been far too distraught to actually think for two seconds. To put together the pieces into something resembling a coherent picture. While Alice had been in a mental state none better — especially considering she'd lost her husband that same night — Alice _had_ observed enough details to examine them after the fact more cautiously. And they'd talked it out, with a few trusted individuals — Remus, Amelia, Aberforth, Alastor, even Minerva. Their conclusions hadn't exactly been comforting.

Starting at the end of that night and working backwards, there was his insistence on leaving Hazel with those muggles. The fact that they were muggles in itself wasn't really the problem — though some of them weren't so pleased with that either. Forcing her on people who possibly hadn't even known she existed, without their consent or even knowledge, with nothing even close to a guarantee they would treat her well, that was completely inexcusable. Not to mention _illegal_. Sirius having been named her noðaþir was a matter of legal record. And even if Sirius had been unavailable, it _still_ wouldn't have been permissible. James and Lily had updated their will shortly after Hazel's birth, and while guardianship of Hazel was to fall to Sirius _first_ , that didn't mean he was _last_. After Sirius was Alice, then Marlene (who'd still been alive when the will had been drafted), then Augusta, then _Minerva_ , of all people — that one had surprised him. Dumbledore had had absolutely no right to unilaterally decide to ignore all that and place Hazel somewhere else. Even that excuse about blood wards wasn't justification enough — especially since Aberforth had pointed out those blood wards would only do her any good _while physically inside the house_ , and weren't really much better than defenses they could set up themselves.

And there were his actions the night itself — or, to be more accurate, actions they later attributed to him. He'd been too distracted to notice at the time, but when Alastor had done a sweep of the house, he'd noticed something peculiar. In the room he'd found the bodies of Lily and Voldemort, where Sirius had retrieved Hazel, Alastor had discovered trace magics hanging around that should not have been there, laid _after_ the explosion that had done the damage. While most of the traces had been old enough and dispersed enough by that point he couldn't get anything specific — a single person casting a number of mildly powerful spells, he thought, but who and what he couldn't discern — one curious bit of information had been eminently clear. A phoenix had been in that room, most likely singing over Hazel, in the bare minutes before Sirius had gotten there. That implied the identity of the wizard well enough.

No one was entirely sure what to think about that, but they agreed it probably wasn't good.

Then, there were the events leading up to the two of them going into hiding in the first place. As those directly involved knew — a secret they kept still from those not already in the know — a prophecy had been made, predicting the birth of someone capable of giving Voldemort a solid kicking of the arse. Ignoring Albus's inability to stop Severus from getting the information to Voldemort, there were a number of problems with his response. He'd quickly identified as the possible subjects the unborn children of either the Potters or the Longbottoms — both Lily and Alice had been, he was pretty sure, seven months pregnant at the time, Neville and Hazel later born on neighboring days, at the proper time. Which, of course, meant the lives of all six were in danger. He'd scrambled to arrange protections for both families, including the Fidēlius. When Severus betrayed Voldemort, they'd learnt he was targeting the Potters alone, so some of the protections on the Longbottoms, including the Fidēlius, were lifted while the Potters stayed in protected isolation.

While Alice did darkly acknowledge that, had defenses over the Longbottoms not been lifted, Frank would still be alive, it was the selection of each family's fidēlior where the real problem came up. On the Potter side, to Sirius's memory, no one had questioned the orders Albus had given. James had immediately asked Sirius to do it, but Sirius had thought that was just too bloody _obvious_. The Death Eaters would be on him in a week. They'd considered Remus, but Sirius hadn't thought it was the best idea — at the time, to his shame, he'd suspected Remus of being the unidentified traitor inside the Order, something he'd profusely apologised for since. So he'd suggested the rat. _No one_ would have expected the rat. James informed Albus of their selection, and that was that. On the Longbottom side, things hadn't gone quite so smoothly.

Alice had immediately suggested _herself_.

When Sirius had first been told about that, he'd been absolutely speechless. He'd had _no idea_ the fidēlior for a location could permanently live _within its bounds_. He'd had absolutely no idea, but Alice insisted there was no reason it couldn't be done. Assertions Aberforth and Amelia had both confirmed, Minerva going to Flitwick for an additional opinion, just in case. But Albus, for whatever reason, had come up with his excuses — she didn't even remember what they had been anymore. Alice had caved, then gave her second choice: Lily. Lily would be fidēlior for the Longbottoms, and Alice would be fidēlior for the Potters. Albus had refused this idea as well. Finally, Frank had then suggested his mother. Apparently, Albus had even had objections to _that_ idea, but those arguments had been even more flimsy, so he'd ceded in the end.

If their fidēlior stayed within the protected area, either their own or the opposite, neither would have been in any danger. Augusta, behind the ancient and immensely powerful wards of House Longbottom, and herself a dangerous duellist and implacable tactician, was safer than most, but still vulnerable by comparison. Pettigrew, on the other hand, was a sitting duck. The only conclusion to draw from this, Alice said, was obvious.

Albus had _wanted_ their defenses to fail. Albus had somehow _known_ that whatever had happened in that nursery, whatever had killed Voldemort and left Hazel with that scar across her forehead, he'd _known_ that would happen. _And he'd let it_.

Which, on the one hand, was the right decision to make strategically. Sacrificing two lives to end Voldemort wasn't a bad trade. All of their little council could see that, to various degrees of willingness. But that didn't change the fact that, as far as they could see, Albus had, while claiming to be trying to keep them safe, _intentionally arranged for either the Potters or Longbottoms to die_.

Sirius understood the decision he'd made. He really did. He just wasn't sure he could trust the old man ever again.

What they suspected he'd been up to in the four years since didn't make Sirius feel any better.

He really, _really_ didn't want to see Albus. But he was pretty sure that, should he choose no, it wouldn't be long until that choice was made irrelevant. He held no illusions Albus couldn't get to him if he really wanted to.

With an aggrieved sigh, he said, 'Alright. Send him in.' He hung up the phone, paced to his dining table, and slumped down into a seat, crossing his arms in preemptive defensiveness.

The sight of Albus Dumbledore smoothly strolling in — decked in his usual peculiarly eccentric way, same warm smile, same twinkling blue eyes — did nothing to make him feel better. Ever since their little group had started secretly voicing their concerns to each other, all Sirius could feel looking upon the most influential wizard in Britain, once one of his personal heroes, was a sickening sense of betrayal.

Sirius just watched him walk in, not saying anything, not offering. He was sure Albus had expected him to. Be all happy to see him, politely show him to a chair, get him some tea or something, who knows. From the way he hesitated — a couple metres from the table, still smiling amiably down at him — he knew Albus was expecting it. But Sirius did nothing, said nothing. Just stared at him. He didn't want Albus here, so the quicker the old man could get to the point, the less annoyed Sirius would have to be. Especially since he already knew what Albus was here about.

Apparently deciding not to draw attention to the rudeness, Albus graciously fell into a seat at the table, across from Sirius. 'Good evening, my boy,' he said in that soft, low tone of his Sirius had heard called _grandfatherly_ so many times it was honestly hard not to think the word now.

It took everything Sirius had not to react negatively to being addressed like that. It'd always annoyed him, even back in his school days, and it really wasn't getting better. 'Albus.'

'First,' he said, his voice shifting immediately to one of sympathy, 'allow me to express my condolences for the death of your mother.'

Sirius blinked — he hadn't expected that. His mother had died nearly a month ago now, he suspected from copious abuse of alcohol and possibly other substances he didn't really care to know about. The woman had always been a drinker and, while she had deigned, after repeated urgings from multiple parties he might have had a hand in coordinating, to readmit most of the expelled Blacks to the House — even some cousins he hadn't even _known_ about — she'd still taken the collapse of that disgusting little revolution harder than he thought seemly. Of course, Mother's death also happened to make him Lord Black. Arrangements were already being made for him and Hazel to move to his childhood home, which he had mixed feelings about, and he was to take up the family seat in the Wizengamot at the meeting next weekend, which he had overwhelmingly negative feelings about.

He refocused himself as Albus started, 'She was—'

'—a right ghastly hag of a woman, yes,' he finished the thought. Well, not _Albus's_ thought, but his own was more accurate anyway. His relationship with his mother had been _somewhat_ better in the last couple years, yes, but that mostly meant he could stand in the same room as her for five minutes without having to worry about her hexing him. They'd hardly been close. 'I know you're not here on government business, High Enchanter. Get to the point.'

For a long moment, Albus just stared at him, heavy blue eyes meeting his own, silent. Was he disappointed Sirius wasn't more broken up about Mother dying? Probably, knowing him, but that wasn't something Sirius was about to feel guilty about. Woman had been awful. Or was he looking for something else? Just in case, Sirius confirmed his barriers were up — he'd learnt the basics of occlumency when he'd been young, improved his skill in drabbles during the war, then trained up to near impenetrability since taking in Hazel. Not perfect, but he was pretty sure he'd be able to keep Albus out if he decided to be stupid. Finally Albus sighed, reached into a pocket of his robes.

Sirius forced himself not to react as Albus pulled a little sheaf of paper out of pocket and, without a wand or word or visible effort, expanded the newspaper to full size and sent it right in front of Sirius with a light banishment. He knew, intellectually, that wasn't actually that impressive. All he'd done was canceled the shrinking charm he'd put on it earlier — a shrinking he'd almost certainly done with a wand in the first place — and slipped it toward him with basic telekinesis. It actually wasn't that hard. Sirius probably wouldn't have been able to do it, but he knew for a fact Alice could. He knew a lot of people whose names started with _A_ who could, actually. He wouldn't allow himself to get distracted by Albus's silly theatrics.

He glanced down at a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ , entirely unsurprised to see it. 'Another of their ridiculous Taxwyð issues. I'm really getting tired of them.'

'It's not the fact of the issue itself I have a problem with,' Albus said, in that patronisingly patient, infuriatingly slow voice of his. 'But rather the content. Or, to be more accurate, the content you contributed.'

'You have a problem with me taking interviews, now?'

Albus raised a single eyebrow, very slightly. 'I suppose that depends on the interview.'

Yeah. This was another thing Albus had been doing where Hazel was involved that was very much annoying him. Even in his relative isolation, he'd heard the crazy rumors that had been floating around about her. How she had some incredibly powerful magical abilities to resist Voldemort as she'd done, how she was a great witch of the light — or dark, take your pick — on the rise, how she was even now off in secret training somewhere — speculations as to who under varied wildly. Somehow, over the past few years, the Girl-Who-Lived had acquired an absolutely mythical feel among the people of Britain, which just pissed him the fuck off. She was _five years old_ , people, honestly. The only intensive training she was receiving at the moment was _learning how to fucking read_. So, he'd gotten tired of it, and given the _Prophet_ an interview for another of their silly war-ending-anniversary issues to set the record straight. Or at least try too.

Which he'd known even as he'd set it up Albus wouldn't exactly be pleased about. It was Amelia who had noticed it first. Albus had never come out and _said_ any of that nonsense people were spouting off about. But, Amelia had pointed out, he never _directly disagreed_ either. Silence from this one particular man on this one particular issue was peculiar. The uninformed — those who didn't immediately believe the gossip, anyway — would take Albus's silence as tacit admission, only seeking to preserve plausible deniability for whatever absurd reason. Apparently, Amelia had talked to _Xeno Lovegood_ of all people about it, and he was certain Albus was intentionally spreading these rumors behind the scenes, sometimes even formulating his own. Sirius wasn't willing to take nearly anything that nutter said on faith alone, but Alastor said he was maybe on to something there. That had only pissed Sirius off more.

So, he had absolutely no patience for this. 'Look, Dumbledore, if you want to make someone's little girl into some ludicrously transparent political tool or cultural symbol or whatever for your own inexplicable purposes, I'm warning you _right now_ , find someone else, because I _won't_ let you use mine.'

'Yours?' Now both of Albus's eyebrows were raised, a bit further than before. He didn't show it a single bit, still his level, serene self, even though Sirius was positive he was annoyed. Maybe only a little annoyed, but annoyed. 'And here I was unaware Elizabeth Augusta Hazel Potter was your daughter.'

Sirius forced himself not to show any hint of sheepishness. This had happened very recently. Only a couple months ago, Hazel had started going to muggle primary school — under an assumed name and far enough from home he had to apparate her there and back, so their location couldn't be traced (a precaution now irrelevant with their imminent move). Sirius had been a bit hesitant about the idea, but really did think it best she get a more thorough early education than he trusted himself to put together, and the added exposure to children her own age really couldn't hurt. At the time, the other kids she'd known had mostly been limited to Neville and Susan, and that hardly counted. For an extra bit of convenience, primary school would end just as Hogwarts would start, so that was nice. He'd had to carefully explain to her not to say anything _too_ magical — and avoid any accidental magic if she could help it — and stacked a number of tracking charms on her, and even given her an emergency portkey before he'd been able to convince himself she'd be fine.

Even then, he spent most of the time she was at school waiting in this café he'd found hardly a block away, monitoring simple detection wards he'd thrown over the school. Just in case.

But anyway, after she'd been going there maybe two weeks, she'd suddenly started calling him _Daddy_ , just about giving him a heart attack the first time. Until then she'd just been using various permutations on _Sirius_ or _Padfoot_ — she apparently thought Padfoot was extremely cuddly, which Sirius thought was a little amusing for some reason he couldn't put words to — so he completely hadn't expected that. He'd tried to talk her out of it, to explain to her that he wasn't really her father. Which was a little pointless, since she knew that full well, had seen pictures and heard stories of James and Lily so many times he wouldn't be surprised if it were starting to annoy her by this point. She'd responded with one of those simple, childish rambles she was so given to, saying how the other kids had daddies, and he'd been taking care of her since longer than she could remember, and she loved him just fine, so why not?

Later, when Sirius had told her about it, Alice had just laughed at him, told him to bow to the inevitable. So he had. Barely a month and a half later, and that twinge of guilt, that slightest of feelings he was betraying James somehow, was _mostly_ gone.

Honestly, he couldn't imagine how he'd feel any different even if she legitimately were his daughter in the proper sense, so like it made any difference.

But, to Albus's non-question, he just said, 'And here I was unaware she was yours.'

Albus stared at him, hard and steady, for long, long moments. Sirius had no idea why it was he did this all the time. The part of him that was always, in a sense, Padfoot had for as long as he could remember taken this as...well, it was hard to put into words, exactly. A dominance thing, basically, a threat. A level, direct, unblinking stare like that — especially when it was coming from a sorcerer who was, undoubtedly, much more powerful and knowledgeable than himself — made him distinctly uncomfortable. Or, at least, it _had_ made him uncomfortable. Now, from how his attitude toward Albus had changed the last few years, well...

He wouldn't _fight_ Albus, in most senses of the word. He had no real desire to, they were _mostly_ on the same side, and he'd probably lose if he did. He just refused to be cowed, refused to put up with his shite anymore. Whatever he wanted Sirius to do had to be justified on its own merits now. Just being Albus Dumbledore wasn't enough. That automatic trust was gone. And the old man had most likely never deserved it in the first place.

'I assure you, Lord Black,' Albus said, his voice consciously neutral, 'if I were to exercise my influence over our nation's public consciousness where Hazel is concerned, it would certainly not be with intent to cause her harm, and certainly only with our people's best interests at heart.'

Once again, Sirius had to reign in an emotional reaction, to not show anything, keep himself obscure. For two reasons, this time. The first was surprise, at how Albus had actually used his proper title — though he supposed it didn't help that it was simply so _new_ to him. The second was, in two words, vindicated fury. Vindication, because Albus had admitted without admitting that he _had_ been spreading all these ridiculous rumors. Fury, because, well, _he had been spreading all these ridiculous rumors_. What possible purpose could that serve? All he was doing was building Hazel, a five-year-old girl, into a monolith larger than life, a target for both reverence and hatred. Come her entrance into Hogwarts, when she _inevitably_ failed to meet the hopelessly unrealistic expectations people would form for her, those on the reverence side would feel disappointed, betrayed, those on the hatred side validated, empowered. It was a strategy _doomed to fail_. Sirius could see that, and he would be the first to admit he wasn't the smartest wizard around.

Not for the first time, Sirius wondered if there wasn't something wrong with Albus Dumbledore.

But he didn't feel like saying any of that. Mostly because he was rather sure Albus would brush off any of his concerns while hardly giving them a thought. 'Disagree with me if you wish, High Enchanter, but I feel the value of our actions is in their consequences, not in our intentions.'

Albus smiled a soft, kindly smile, his voice bent as though gently pointing out the simplest of mistakes. 'Ah, one must be careful when thinking only of the consequences. Great good may have been done by men thinking such, but it is all too easy to become so blinded by the goal one misses the evil in the methods.'

'Just as many a man has had his vision made so narrow by his intentions he completely fails to see the evils he's created. I guess which is worse is a matter of opinion.' In his mind, there wasn't really a debate there.

After that, Albus left easily enough. But by his bearing as he walked, the way Albus looked at him, Sirius knew. Before, Sirius might not have been the most _useful_ of Albus's people — he had no illusions about that. There were people more skilled, people more powerful, people more connected. What he had been was perfectly loyal, perfectly trustworthy. Standing with Albus not only in the Order, but even in public, where doing so was often much less personally desirable.

But he knew, just looking at him. Albus wasn't entirely sure Sirius was on his side anymore.

Which was well enough, he guessed. He wasn't sure, himself.

**Author's Note:**

> noðaþir (IPA: /nɔ.ðɑ.θɪr/, roughly "no-tha-thir") — _Brīþwn term for godfather._
> 
> noðxam (IPA: /nɔð.xɑm/, roughly "noth- **h** ahm") — _Brīþwn term for godmother._
> 
> fidēlior — _I decided not to change the name of the Fidēlius charm, though I almost did. But, since I'm such a tinkerer, the Secret Keeper is instead called fidēlior. In my head, the lengthy business of the ritual itself involves a number of lines addressed at the fidēlior, each of which starts with Fidēlior tū ("you, most faithful"), which is the source for the name of the charm._
> 
> noðēx (IPA: /nɔð.øx/, roughly "no-the **h** ") — _Brīþwn term for goddaughter._
> 
> High Enchanter — _As in my other fics, this replaces the title of "Chief Warlock." Because that title is just etymologically unlikely._
> 
> Taxwyð (IPA: /tɑ.ʝʷɨð/, roughly "tah-gwith") — _Depending on context, the Brīþwn name for the month of November, or the festival of October 31st / November 1st. Pretty much just applied the sound changes in my head to Welsh Tachwedd._
> 
> * * *
> 
> _Oh, hey, this still exists! This is the...third HP fanfiction I ever came up with. Before I started TRW, I actually debated for some time over whether I would do that or this one. I guess it's somewhat more typical of HP fanfiction than my usual stuff, in that it follows something not too dissimilar from the canon plot — "The Seducer Aria" includes the pre-Hogwarts years and first and second year, and other fics would continue on from there. Involves a lot of my usual worldbuilding nonsense, including types of magic that did not come up in canon — Hazel herself learns song-based casting — and a powerful, magical-raised GWL in Slytherin who isn't an evil crazy person. Weird how rarely that seems to happen in fanfiction._
> 
> _I still like the idea. We'll see what happens when TLG and TRW are finished.  
>  ~Wings_


End file.
